Trial by Combat
by selkieskins
Summary: Fade De'Tirend, the elven wizard and reluctant Knight Captain, fights a battle and tries to enjoy the resulting celebrations. This one-shot precedes my as-of-yet unfinished story spanning the rest of the OC and MotB.


Trial by Combat - NWN2

"Stand still, damn you!" Lorne shouted. Fade was half his size, less probably, and it was not difficult for her to duck under his attacks and nick him with her daggers. He was slow to start with and tiring quickly, but she was tiring too. After all, she was a wizard first and a fighter second; she had only recently asked Casavir and Khelgar to spar with her, tired of having to cower behind them every time an enemy approached. Right now she had one spell left, but she wanted to be sure it would finish him and she'd have to stand away to give herself time to cast. She wasn't ready yet; many of her attacks were glancing off his armour and most of the cuts she had managed to make were shallow.

She darted around behind him as his blade bit into the dirt, slashing at the backs of his knees, but the reach of her daggers was not enough. He swung savagely behind him and she scrambled backwards to avoid the blow, but even so it caught her in the arm. She dropped her second knife, and it bounced off her boot and skittered away in a cloud of dust. She was now completely unable to reach him. He slashed at her again and again, missing each time as she twisted away. But then her heel caught in the dirt and she fell, catching her wounded arm and rolling awkwardly to avoid his downward swing. Scurrying to her feet as he began to raise his sword again, she saw her chance and took it. His raised arms exposed the unarmoured joint at the shoulder, and she launched herself forward, driving the knife into his armpit.

For one moment they shared a look as the realisation struck him, and he looked so like Bevil that it made her blood run cold. She thought for a moment that she'd made a mistake, that she's killed her friend who was simple and scared, but so, so brave, but then she remembered it was Lorne, and she pulled the knife free. The fight went out of him in a rush and he began to fall to his knees,

Pushing away from him to avoid his sword as it fell from his hand, Fade ran until she was at a safe distance and, hearing a heavy thud, she knew it was finished. He could not survive such an injury, not without the aid of a cleric, and he would not get that from Neverwinter. All that was left for her to do was show him mercy.

The first magic missile hit him square in the chest, knocking him from his knees to his back. All those that followed were unnecessary, but she couldn't stop them once the spell was cast. The sight of the glowing projectiles buffeting the corpse of a man whose face she remembered from childhood made her want to vomit; but she wouldn't, not here. The people of Neverwinter needed a hero, and for some reason fate had chosen her - Fade De'Tirend, an elf from a backwater swamp town, who would have been content to stay there until she was old and grey - to be that hero. Lorne was not a cruel man, and he was her friend's brother. But to the people of Neverwinter this was black and white; her sympathies had to lie entirely with Neverwinter, and she could not be seen to feel bad for the 'Luskan dog'. She would not mourn for him where they could see.

She realised that Lord Nasher was congratulating her on her victory, and he ordered her to return to the Flagon to rest. She was all too glad to oblige; there was nothing she wanted more than to scrub the battle from her skin and sleep for a week. But her companions had different ideas. Khelgar suggested a party (with lots of ale) to celebrate, an idea that pleased many of the others greatly, and when they arrived back at the tavern Duncan was very much onboard. He commanded Grobnar to strike up a tune, and he did, a lively one with a steady rhythm. The dance required all the girls to dance in a circle, then with a man, then back in the circle and so on until the tune finished. After that there were several slow songs because everyone needed to catch their breath. Fade began to enjoy herself, easily pushing the day's events from her mind for the time being.

She danced first with Khelgar, to thank him for offering to be her champion. He was the same height as her, despite being a dwarf, and his breath already smelled of ale. She suspected he had been drinking during the trial by combat to calm his nerves as he was more fond of her than he would ever care to admit. He wouldn't have offered to be her champion otherwise.

Next she danced with Casavir, who was far too tall and made the dance awkward by remaining tense and silent, no doubt unnerved by her proximity. She tried to make conversation, but the only words she could wring out of him were, "We almost lost you," accompanied by a haunted look.

The second that dance was over Bishop grabbed her for the next upbeat number, burling her around the room until she was roaring with mildly hysterical laughter. He was shorter than Casavir, but only by a little, so his height left him mercifully unable to grab her behind as they danced.

Finally, she danced a slow dance with Sand. He was a few inches taller than her, so after she thanked him for defending her in the trial (even if it hadn't really worked) she almost fell asleep with her head resting on his shoulder.

When they broke apart at the end of the song she stumbled a little, blinking heavily. He smiled and told her that most of their companions were so deep in their cups by now that they wouldn't even notice if she left to get some rest. Even Casavir had imbibed more than he should have, and was leaning heavily on the table at which he sat. He was probably still recovering from his dance with her, Sand quipped. Fade snorted softly, kissed him on the cheek - an action that surprised her as much as it surprised him - and retreated to her room where the sounds of the party were muffled slightly by several walls.

She kicked off her boots, caked with arena sand and dried blood. She would scrub those clean in the morning, before the others woke, and bathe as well. She would also need to wash her robe, she saw; there was a spattering of blood across the cowl, almost black on the red, and the hems of the sleeves were stained too. All her dance partners had been tactful enough not to mention it, but it made her feel ill. She peeled it off and climbed into bed, her limbs heavy with fatigue.

Even so, it took her several hours to fall asleep as she picked the sand from under her nails.


End file.
